


What Dreams May Come

by IrinyaClockworker



Series: wioverse [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Eye Trauma, Fever Dreams, Gen, Guilt, Nightmares, Short, Sort of? - Freeform, feat. brief appearances by a couple of bastards, it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrinyaClockworker/pseuds/IrinyaClockworker
Summary: "To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause..."Kurapika has a lot of enemies. His mind may be one of the worst.





	What Dreams May Come

He's running.

He's not sure how long he's been running for, only that he is; his muscles are aching, lungs burning, and he knows his stamina is far better than average, so he must have run a long way.

He's not sure what he's running _from,_ either, but he knows that if it catches him, he'll pay the price.

"Kurapika, hurry!" Gon's voice is pitched with panic, and he pushes himself harder. "You have to go faster! Please, Kurapika!"

 _I'm trying,_ he wants to gasp out, but it's all he can do to breathe. 

"Come _on,_ Kurapika!" It's Leorio calling him now. "You don't have much time! Hurry up!"

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Why can't they see that he's doing the best he can? Don't they know him well enough to know that?

"Why the hell are you so slow?" Killua shouts. And then Melody, calling out, and he's trying, trying, trying, but he _can't._

The sun burns him, the rough ground scrapes at his bare feet. Every part of him is screaming out for it to stop, for him to stop, and give up, but he can't--

 

"Kurapika, wait!"

The voice comes from behind him now. He stops, and turns around on shaking legs, and then there's no more need to move.

There's no more need to move, because they're coming to him. The people he loves most in the world are coming to him. His father, his mother, even Pairo--coming towards him with open arms, with smiles on their faces and light in their eyes, just like the last time he saw them.

"Kurapika, where are you going?" his mother asks, gentle reproach in her tone. "Are you running off on your own again?"

"You can't go away, Kurapika. You promised," Pairo reminds him. "You promised it would always be the two of us. You can't go and leave me behind."

And he's right, of course he's right. Kurapika had made a promise, so long ago, and he can't break that. 

His legs give out beneath him, and he falls to his knees, feeling tears starting to stream down his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

His mother reaches out, and gently touches his face, lifting his chin so that their eyes meet--

But where her eyes should be, warm and loving, there's only blood.

_"Why did you leave?"_

He _screams,_ the sound tearing painfully from his throat, and her nails start to dig into his skin. Where are the others--where are his friends? They were there, they were calling to him--where did they go--

 _"You left them behind."_ Pairo's voice is sharp and accusing in a way Kurapika has never heard it before, and his face is contorted with hate. The unspoken words somehow ring through the air regardless. _Just like you left me._

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," Kurapika chokes, sobbing. "I didn't know. I didn't want it to happen. Please, I didn't--"

And then a line of red appears along Pairo's neck, and an invisible blade slices straight through.

 _ **"No!"**_ Kurapika shrieks, and tries to move to his friend's side, but the grip on him remains firm, even as Pairo's body falls, even as the blood starts to spill onto the ground, even as Kurapika continues to scream, as horrified and heartbroken as the first time he found out about the massacre, as the first time he saw that crumpled form, as every day since.

_"It's your fault. You left us."_

A hand tangles in his hair, and pulls his head to the side, forcing him to look into the bruised, bloody face of the elder who'd tried to stop him all those years ago.

_"I warned you. I told you there was no place for the Kurta outside. I told you it was just a silly fantasy, but you didn't listen. And you failed to keep yourself hidden... Your stupidity killed us."_

He's crying too hard to speak, can only shake his head in silent denial. It wasn't his fault. It couldn't have been his fault. 

_"You don't deserve those eyes."_

He knows. He knows. Gods, how could he _not?_ It's nothing he hasn't told himself a thousand times over.

"Please," he whispers, and then the hand draws back.

For a moment, he thinks it's over. For a moment, until he opens his eyes again, and sees a pair of shimmering gold irises only a few inches away from his face.

"Boo," Hisoka says almost cheerfully, and grabs him.

He struggles, twisting in the smiling clown's grasp, and then breathes in deeply once, twice-- _there,_ he thinks, and moves again, slamming one foot into Hisoka's knee. The grip on his wrists loosens for a moment, and that's enough for him to break free, running headlong into nowhere, just _away._ He can feel Hisoka's aura fading with distance, and wonders for a moment why he isn't being chased, why he's just being allowed to get away.

The thoughts and feelings flooding his mind occupy him, and he doesn't notice what's in front of him until it's too late, and he's frozen in place, unable to move beyond futile struggles. At first he thinks it's Hisoka's nen. Then he sees the long, extending strands, and the spiraling threads, and realizes what's happened.

"A helpless insect caught in a web." The voice comes from behind him, but he doesn't need to see it to know who it belongs to. "How fitting."

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps heralds exactly who he'd expected, and he scowls at the leader of the Phantom Troupe. He's not struggling against the web anymore. Better to save his strength. If he gets cut free--

"May I?"

This new voice is soft, and pauses between words as if searching for the next one. When the person it belongs to comes into view, Kurapika simply stares him down. A small, dark-haired figure, wrapped entirely in black--

"Of course." Chrollo smiles thinly, and then looks back up at Kurapika. "But save his head, if you can. I imagine at least one of us will find owning it appealing."

"Whatever you say."

He takes a few steps forwards, and Kurapika stiffens. He's not going to react. He _won't_ react.

 _The sun on my face, the grass beneath my feet, my skin cleansed by the water of the lake._ He closes his eyes, and mouths the prayer silently to himself. He is not afraid. He is not afraid. His clan suffered and he can do the same. He _is not afraid._

 _My spirit soars among the clouds, my path illuminated by the moon and stars._ His mother no doubt fought to the very end. His father would have been strong and resilient through whatever they put him through. The elder, who no doubt understood exactly what had brought this upon them. Perhaps he had cursed Kurapika with his last breaths, but he would have fought until the moment of death. Pairo, who must have been so confused, so afraid. What were his last thoughts?

 _I honor my ancestors for bringing me to this place, and defend my brethren with my dying breath._ All of the people he'd betrayed, all of the people who had suffered because of him. They endured so much. He can do the same.

_On the Scarlet Eyes, I swear this._

He whispers that to himself, over and over again, _I swear it, I swear it, I swear it._

He whispers it until his words are lost beneath his own screams.

* * *

"...How's he doing?" She knew he was coming long before he spoke, of course. His heartbeat is familiar to her, pleasant and soothing. She wishes it could do something for the other person in the room with them.

Kurapika trembles violently, desperate, wordless sounds trapped in his throat. He was still and quiet for so long that for anyone else it would have been reasonable to worry he'd died--he has the appearance of a corpse, ashen and lifeless--at least up until recently.

"Not well," she replies honestly. How can she say anything else? Even in this state, his heart tells a story, and the soft, pained gasps do as well. He calls four familiar names, her own and the three who seemed so worried about him. He mutters desperately in a language she can't understand, uses two words over and over again, words that she's painfully certain mean 'mother' and 'father'. Phrases, ones she can guess the meanings of easily enough. And one more thing, something he continues to say, that he'll repeat countless times before falling silent again.

She looks up at Leorio, her face drawn with worry.

"Do you know what 'Pairo' means?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"I've got no clue... Sorry."

"It's all right," she whispers, and turns back to the boy in front of her.

_What are you seeing?_

His quiet cries are the only response she'll receive.


End file.
